Chapter 13
CHAPTER 13
V iola stuffed the last remnants of a chocolate muffin into her mouth as she sat at the breakfast bar. Mrs Johnson spent the morning baking a selection of sugary delights in anticipation of Caroline’s visit, and she was unable to resist scoffing one with her coffee as an afternoon treat.
Her eyes tried to focus through the rain-splattered window to the horizon, where she and Gillian had ridden only days before. The memory of that ride was vivid in her mind — the thrumming of Dudley’s hooves; the wind against her face, blowing through her hair; and the comforting presence of Gillian behind her.
Viola sighed as she traced a finger along the glass, following the trails of raindrops as they joined together and lost their battle against gravity. The landscape outside was a stark contrast now. Even softened by the rain, it held the same allure, stirring a desire inside her to be back there with Gillian.
An unmistakable vibration pulled her from her thoughts. Caroline was arriving in the helicopter she had booked for the weekend. Clambering from her stool, she made her way to the back hall and opened the door as the helicopter touched down on the grass.
She waved at Caroline as she emerged from it and beckoned her inside. The tall woman, in her late fifties, carried herself with an athletic grace. Her dark brown fringe fell into her eyes before she flicked it away with a practiced gesture, causing her high ponytail to swing from side to side.
“V, this place is beautiful, even in a downpour! The photographs do not do it justice,” Caroline said as she reached the door, shaking water droplets from her coat before stepping inside. “You’ve bagged yourself a stunner.”
“It is rather,” Viola agreed, pulling her into a warm hug.
Caroline pulled back after a moment, a hint of regret in her eyes. “Bad news, I’m afraid. I need to be back in London tomorrow for an urgent meeting. Sorry.”
“Oh. I’d booked us Sunday lunch,” Viola said, her shoulders sagging.” I was going to fly us there.”
Caroline scrunched her face. “We have tonight, and then you can fly me back to Battersea.”
Struggling to disguise the disappointment on her face, Viola nodded her agreement. She was looking forward to showing Caroline around the estate. She waved at her regular pilot, Douglas, as he walked across the lawn to the front of the house, briefcase in hand. Like clockwork, she could make out the distant sound of crunching gravel coming from the front of the house as his car arrived to collect him.
“Come on in,” she said, shutting the back door and taking Caroline’s coat. “I’ll give you a whistle-stop tour before our guests arrive for dinner.”
“Guests?”
“Yes,” Viola confirmed as she hung up the coat. Noticing a draught coming from the cellar door beside her, she pushed it closed with her foot. “Gillian will be joining us and Bridget, her friend. She lives in the village too.”
Caroline frowned. “Gillian. Gillian Carmichael?”
“Yes.” Viola laughed.
“The self-same woman you’ve done nothing but moan about since you got here?”
“I’ve got to know her a little since then.”
Or more likely a hell of a lot. She knew more about Gillian than anyone did, even Bridget. Knowing things about people didn’t exactly translate to knowing them. In this case, though, she had a good idea of who Gillian was, and the butterflies circling her stomach from thinking about her told her she liked what she saw.
“You would have to get to know her a lot to invite her to dinner. Hang on. Didn’t you say she was hot?”
“No, I recall you suggested she was hot. And yes, I have got to know her, and she’s teaching me to ride.” Noticing the cheeky grin forming on Caroline’s face, she quickly clarified. “A horse, Caroline! Goodness. It’s so easy to talk to her. She doesn’t see me as a celebrity; she sees me as me. We seem to click in an odd way.” Viola stopped, realising she may be overly justifying her new friendship.
“I for one am glad you have found a friend . Just don’t get too comfortable or you won’t ever want to go back to work. You are, after all, closing the Proms in September.”
Viola groaned audibly. She had forgotten. In fact, she’d forgotten entirely about work, living quite contentedly in her Kingsford bubble.
Caroline tilted her head in response. “We agreed it would be a good way to ease you back in.”
“I know. Will you be there?”
“I can’t, V. Sorry. I’ll be in L.A.”
Viola felt the pangs of loneliness that had recently subsided rise inside her again. This would be her first performance without her mum. There would be no one to help her prepare. No one she could practise the songs to, even though it was ingrained in her, as they all were. There would be no one there for her when she came offstage, to chill with and enjoy a glass of something. A wave of panic swept through her as she realised there was no longer anyone to moderate her, to keep her on track, to keep her accountable. Her mum’s voice sounded in her head: ‘One and done.’ It was something she always said in the dressing room when they enjoyed a celebratory drink.
“Are you okay?” Caroline asked, catching her eye.
“Yes. Only it’s my first performance without Mum,” Viola answered, inhaling a deep breath.
Caroline placed her hands on Viola’s shoulders, looking her straight in the eyes. “You will be fine. You are magnificent. You can do this,” she said, pulling her into a tight hug.
Viola forced a smile and took another deep breath as she returned the embrace. She could do this; she needed to. Although her mum was no longer here, she could still do it for her, keeping up with the routines they made. She wasn’t going to let her down.
As Caroline pulled back, she patted Viola’s chest gently. “She’s in here. You won’t let her down.”
Viola wiped her eyes, which were filling with tears. “I won’t.”
“Now come on,” Caroline said, putting an arm around Viola. “Show me all the exciting nooks and crannies. There better be a priest hole hiding somewhere, or I will be extremely disappointed.”
“I gave the place a good search when I moved in, and the only things I found were some old paintings in the attic.”
“We can ask this Gillian of yours.”
“She’s not my Gillian,” Viola disputed, as much as she liked the sound of it.
“Yeah, yeah,” Caroline countered as they left the room.
Following a tour of the manor, Viola showed Caroline to a guest room at the back of the house, where the windows offered sweeping, uninterrupted views of the estate.
The sound of pans clattering from the room below signalled Mrs Johnson’s arrival to prepare dinner, so Viola left Caroline to settle in and retreated to her own bathroom, where she sank into a hot bath. She relished the calming embrace of the water as she thought about the evening ahead. She was excited yet nervous to see Gillian again, and her mind wandered to what she might wear to dinner. She wouldn’t be short of beautiful dresses, having spent decades as a hostess.
After her bath, Viola selected a chiffon maxi dress that she knew would show her figure off to her advantage. Its rich, deep green hues contrasted with the auburn waves she’d teased into place over her shoulders. Taking a moment to admire herself in the mirror, she felt a sudden surge of confidence. Secretly she hoped it might catch Gillian’s attention.
Refreshed and ready, she made her way to the great hall, checking her watch to see how long it would be before Gillian would arrive. She began to hum a riff that popped into her mind from nowhere. It had been a while since that last happened. Her humming turned into a soft, melodic singing as she descended the stairs. When she noticed Caroline at the bottom looking up at her, she stopped.
“Don’t let me stop you,” Caroline said with a wide grin. “It’s good to hear you singing again. I don’t think I’ve heard this one before.”
“It just slipped into my mind,” Viola admitted. “I haven’t felt the urge to write anything new since Mum died.”
“These things come back to us when we are ready. Sometimes a good break is all we need.” A corner of Caroline’s mouth twitched into a smile. “Or a new muse.”
Viola scowled at her playfully. “That’s enough, thank you.”
“Shall we crack open the champers?” Caroline said, deftly changing the subject by nodding at a bottle and four glasses on the banqueting table.
“You’ll have to wait. It’s rude to start before the guests have arrived. They are quite fastidious about etiquette around here.”
“The savages know about etiquette?” Caroline said, recoiling in faux shock.
“Yes, more so than you it seems.”
“I suppose there must be one downside. Otherwise, this place is really something.”
“You like your room then?”
“Like it? I love it. It will be difficult to get me out of it in the morning, more specifically that spa bath. Did the house come with all the furniture? My four-poster bed must be hundreds of years old.”
“Probably about four hundred, which is how long the Carmichaels owned it.”
A knock at the door echoed into the hall, sending butterflies through Viola from head to toe.
“That will be our guests.”
Viola opened the door to find Gillian in an elegant, off-the-shoulder, V-neck, full-length black gown with a slit up to her thigh. It revealed ample amounts of cleavage, which Viola struggled to tear her eyes away from.
“Gillian, wow.” Viola blinked, realising the last word had let itself out.
“Wow, indeed.” Gillian gestured to Viola as she entered the porch.
“Oh, thank you,” Viola replied, feeling her cheeks burn as she smoothed down her dress and flicked a curl of hair back over her shoulder.
She approached Gillian, placing her hands on her bare upper arms and giving an air kiss to the left and then the right cheek, where she lingered. Her cheek was still grazing Gillian’s as a hint of her perfume caught in her nose. It was different to Gillian’s usual jasmine scent; this was much heavier, with hints of patchouli and musk. It, like the woman herself, was intoxicating.
A polite cough sounded from behind, making them both jump. Bridget was standing at the threshold.
“Oh! I didn’t realise you were coming, Bridget,” Gillian said, pulling back abruptly. “How lovely.”
“Am I here to make up the numbers?” Bridget asked, her voice teasing, though a flicker of uncertainty crossed her face, as if she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted the answer.
Viola felt a pang of sadness for the woman. “No, you most certainly aren’t,” she said, reaching out to her and guiding her inside.
She air-kissed Bridget as well and took her shawl, which was covering an old-looking floral-printed dress. The woman had likely given up trying to look glamorous next to Gillian, or perhaps couldn’t afford to compete. As Viola hung up the shawl on a peg, the echoes of clicking heels warned her that Caroline was approaching.
As predicted, Caroline appeared, squeezing herself into the small porch. Taking a brief look at both ladies, she held out a hand to Gillian. “You must be Gillian. I’m Caroline. I’ve heard so much about you.”
Viola was rapidly regretting inviting her to stay.
Gillian’s soft smile in her direction and question of “Oh, really,” did nothing to help her growing anxiety at what the rest of the evening might hold.
Caroline nodded. “Viola doesn’t stop talking about you. I was sorry to hear of the loss of your husband, and of course this delightful building.”
“Thank you,” Gillian replied. “I’m bearing it as best I can.”
“Let’s go through to the great hall for some champagne before we all suffocate?” Viola said, feeling short of breath suddenly. “Dinner will be served shortly.”
She gestured for Gillian and Bridget to go through ahead of her. As they passed, Caroline greeted Bridget, then extended an arm, lightly catching Viola to hold her back.
“You definitely didn’t notice how hot she was when you were having these little chats with her?” Caroline whispered once the two women were out of earshot.
“No,” Viola lied, hoping she sounded at least a little convincing.
“Bull. Look at her, she’s a goddess. All you do is talk about her on the phone.”
“Oh, okay, I’m attracted to her. So what?” Viola hissed. It felt great to say it out loud finally, to someone. To admit it to herself even.
“Ha! See? What a shame she’s straight.”
“Mmm.” Viola looked down. Any further response than that and she would likely give something away.
“Mmm? Is that it? Spill. Now.”
It was impossible to hide anything from Caroline, especially when she was glaring at her so intently.
“I can’t,” Viola replied with a shake of her head.
“Can’t? Or won’t?” Caroline pushed.
“I promised. I can’t say anymore,” Viola whispered.
“You haven’t said anything except ‘mmm’ and then grinned inanely.”
Had she? Shit .
“Your face always gives everything away.” Caroline smirked. “Especially when you are smiling like the Cheshire cat.”
“For fuck’s sake, Caroline. Look, I can’t say anything. She trusts me,” Viola whispered. She then made her way into the great hall to end the conversation.
“Okay, I won’t make you break a trust,” Caroline said quietly as she followed behind. “I’ll assume — from looking at her — that her uptight cute butt is overcompensating for something, and she might not be as straight as she makes out.”
Viola glanced at Gillian’s perfect backside across the hall, her gaze lingering longer than intended. She quickly averted her eyes, feeling a flush of heat in her cheeks again.
“Why didn’t you mention you were invited?” Gillian whispered to Bridget as they entered the great hall.
“Why didn’t you?”
“In case you hadn’t been.”
“Likewise,” Bridget countered.
Gillian pursed her lips. The likelihood of a scenario where Bridget was invited and she not was highly improbable.
A tightness gripped her throat as she took in her surroundings. She’d only made it as far as the kitchen when she stopped for coffee with Viola and hadn’t been into the great hall itself since that last day. It felt like an eternity ago.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes, of course,” Gillian replied, her tone sharper than intended. Catching the look of disbelief on Bridget’s face, she softened and admitted, “Well, maybe it is a little unsettling to be back.”
“It would be,” Bridget said, placing a comforting hand on her arm.
Gillian turned, looking for her host, only to see her enter the hall with Caroline. Viola was breathtaking. The sight of her at the door overwhelmed Gillian, leaving her unsteady on her feet. Now, she watched as Viola walked towards her, the dark-green fabric of her dress shimmering under the chandelier. It was magnificent; the colour accentuated her rich hair, and the low V-neck drew Gillian’s eye down to her cleavage, leaving her feeling guilty for peeking.
The sound of phone alerts pinged, pulling Gillian’s attention away. Her hand shot into her bag as quickly as Bridget’s went into hers to retrieve their phones.
“I do apologise,” Gillian directed at Viola, knowing how impolite it was to be checking her phone. “It’s the flower show tomorrow, and a minor leak in the roof of the village hall was brought to our attention this morning.”
Bridget looked to Gillian, having read the message. “Oh, Gillian, what do we do?”
“How bad is it?” Viola asked, approaching Gillian with concern.
“It appears that the minor leak has become a major leak. It was rotten, and we now have a hole in the roof.”
“Will we have to cancel the show?” Bridget asked.
“I don’t know. The weather looks awful again tomorrow, so the village green isn’t an option. We may have to.”
Gillian looked to Viola. She didn’t want to ask, but with months of hard work put in by the villagers, she knew she must.
“Look, why don’t you hold the flower show here?” Viola said with a shrug. “I won’t be around tomorrow anyway as I’m flying Caroline back to London. Mrs Johnson can let you in early; she’ll be clearing up from tonight.”
Gillian pressed her hand to her stomach at the offer only to realise it may not have been genuine. Viola may have sensed she was about to ask and decided to get ahead of her. Either way, she couldn’t say no. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” Viola said, placing a hand on Gillian’s arm. “Now let’s have some champagne. You both look like you could use a glass… or two.”
“Thank you,” Gillian mouthed, taking a glass from Viola.
The soft smile she received in return nearly stole her breath. She bit back her own grin, taking a small sip of champagne to cover it.Feeling strangely light-headed already, she knew she would need to limit her alcohol intake this evening if she was going to be in any fit state for her early start.
“We should go through to the dining room,” Viola said, gesturing to a door off the great hall. “I was informed that dinner will be served promptly at seven thirty.”
Gillian smiled with fondness, remembering Mrs Johnson’s strict schedules.
Viola directed them to their seats, placing Gillian beside herself.
Although the usual small talk commenced over dinner, Gillian found it difficult to focus on, or engage, in it. Memories from the afternoon she had ridden with Viola resurfaced, as they had done many times over the last few days. With the woman sitting next to her, it was difficult to ignore them and push them away this time. The soft sound of laughter from Viola at a joke Caroline had told reminded Gillian of her enjoyment as they rode across the fields. Her laughter had been so genuine, so infectious.
Gillian recalled pressing into her back as she held the reins, supporting herself with her legs, grounding Viola to Dudley as his powerful hooves propelled them through the fields of Kingsford. The sensation of Viola’s body against hers as it tensed and relaxed during their ride lingered in her mind, as did her scent.
“You’re very quiet this evening,” Viola said, her voice low.
Noticing Caroline and Bridget were engaged in a conversation about the logistics of organising a concert, Gillian replied, “Am I?” She took the last bite of a particularly delicious lemon torte and placed her fork down. Mrs Johnson had outdone herself.
“Unusually so. You normally have an opinion on most things,” Viola teased.
Gillian narrowed her eyes at her host, following it up with a tightening of her lips.
“Is it being here?” Viola whispered, leaning forward.
“No,” Gillian swiftly denied. Noticing Viola’s raised eyebrow, she realised she couldn’t fool her. “Okay, it is a little strange. I’m sure it’s something to which I will become accustomed.”
Viola’s expression softened; her eyes filled with understanding. “I, for one, am glad you are here.”
A warming sensation spread through Gillian’s body. “Me too.”
The conversation shifted back to the table, with Bridget probing Caroline on the ins and outs of being an agent to some of the country’s top musicians.
With the cheeseboard wiped clean, Viola suggested they go to the drawing room for drinks. Gillian was so close behind her that she noticed a light freckling on her bare shoulders, as delicate as the ones on her face. Her skin looked soft and inviting, captivating Gillian’s attention until they entered the room and an unexpected change in the atmosphere pulled her attention away.
A new fabric adorned the windows, and matching cushions were scattered on the Chesterfields. Light and modern, it brought a refreshing feel to the room, a stark contrast to the dark, oppressive atmosphere that had once filled the room. Gillian felt a twinge of nostalgia mixed with a feeling of unease. She traced her fingers along the arm of the familiar Chesterfield, its leather smooth and cool under her touch.
Bridget’s hand rested on her shoulder, offering a brief, reassuring squeeze. Gillian nodded in acknowledgment, appreciating the silent support of her friend, who had an uncanny knack for understanding her lately. The small yet grounding gesture reminded her that she wasn’t entirely alone, even in this unfamiliar version of her own space.
Bridget took a seat next to her as Viola placed herself on the other sofa opposite Gillian. Caroline admired the room, popping her wine glass onto the mantelpiece.
Looking at the fireplace, Gillian realised the painting above it was different.
Viola seemed to notice and said, “I found that in the attic and thought it was rather thought-provoking. I hope you didn’t leave it by accident. I assumed it was one of the items you wanted to leave with the house.”
“No, not at all. Sorry, I should have thrown it away rather than leave it up there. Jonathon had a brief compulsion of wasting money on hideous, worthless artwork.”
She remembered telling Jonathon that she had thrown it out, along with the other paintings he bought, when in truth she had stashed them away in the attic. They might be junk, but the frames were reusable, and this one particularly was so old and beautiful that she hoped she might be able to repurpose it in the manor one day.
“I’m glad you didn’t throw them away. I rather like this one,” Viola said, giving the artwork of a woman stabbing a man in the back an admiring eye.
“That reminds me, Gillian,” Caroline said. “Are there any priest holes in the building?”
“Not to my knowledge. I wouldn’t expect there to be either, considering the Carmichaels were Church of England,” Gillian replied, her tone clipped.
“Oh, yes, right.” Caroline’s fingers fidgeted with the stem of her wine glass.
“So, Viola,” Bridget added quickly, “how did you and Caroline meet?”
It felt like an odd question to Gillian; she made it sound like they were a couple.
Caroline walked behind Viola and placed her hands on her shoulders.
“Now that is a story that we can’t disclose. Let’s just say a famous singer brought us together.”
“That’s a shame,” Bridget said. “We love a bit of gossip, don’t we, Gillian?”
“We certainly do not,” Gillian scowled.
Her eyes shot to Viola, embarrassed she might think her a gossip, only to see Viola lift her hand to her shoulder and tap on Caroline’s hand. It took her by surprise and made her shift in her seat. Was she reading everything wrong? Were Viola and Caroline, in fact, a couple? Viola spoke affectionately about Caroline. She also said she didn’t trust anyone enough to have a relationship, a long-term relationship more specifically. Could it just be sex? The thought unsettled her more than she liked. What did she care about who Viola had sex with? Even so, the idea gnawed at her.
Caroline collected her glass from the mantelpiece and sat next to Viola. “So, Gillian,” Caroline said. “I understand you’re organising the summer ball for Viola?”
Slipping her shoes off, she tucked her feet onto the seat and leaned an arm against the back of the Chesterfield, her body turned towards her friend. The sight of Viola and Caroline’s easy intimacy stirred feelings of jealousy inside her.
“She has kindly bestowed me that favour.” She glanced at Viola with a knowing look; Viola returned it with a playful glint in her eyes.
“Doesn’t that make her your boss?” Caroline sniggered.
“Oh, yes. It kind of does, Gillian,” Bridget put in with a mischievous grin.
Gillian coughed on her wine, just managing to speak as she recovered. “It’s purely voluntary. I can withdraw services at any time.”
“I’ll do well to remember that,” Viola shot back with a wink that made Gillian cough again.
“When do we get to hear you sing again, Viola? Any performances planned?” Bridget asked.
Gillian noticed Viola’s face fell flat at the question. She remained silent, and Caroline answered for her.
“She is singing at the Proms in September.”
“Oh, exciting! I’ll be sure to watch.”
Viola mustered a smile for Bridget, though Gillian could see it wasn’t genuine. She caught Viola’s eye and gave her a soft smile, receiving one back.
Bridget yawned and covered her mouth quickly. “Sorry. I’m afraid I’d better head off,” she said, draining her glass and standing. “I need to prepare some signs before I go to bed to redirect people from the village hall. There won’t be time in the morning.”
Viola leaned forward to place her glass on the table, the movement inadvertently offering Gillian a glimpse down the neckline of her dress. The curve of her cleavage was impossible to ignore. Gillian’s eyes darted away as soon as she realised she was staring.
“I’ll see you out, Bridget,” Viola said, her dress sweeping around her, showing off her attractive shape as she passed Gillian.
Gillian watched as they left the room, a flush creeping up her neck.
“It must be strange for you to be here, with someone else as hostess?” Caroline said as soon as they were alone.
“I bear it the best I can,” Gillian admitted. Her voice was tinged with wistful resignation as she glanced around the room, taking in the familiar yet altered surroundings. “I spent years making this house a home. Every corner, every detail was a part of me. Seeing it now, it’s like looking at a stranger wearing my clothes. Not that Viola hasn’t done a good job,” she conceded.
Caroline gave her a sympathetic smile. “Viola has a distinctive style, that’s for sure.”
It left Gillian feeling like a relic of the past, an echo in a building she once ruled.
“She seems quite taken with you… as a friend,” Caroline continued. Her tone was neutral, yet her eyes were probing.
Gillian looked away, unsettled by where the conversation was going. It felt rather like Caroline was marking her territory. “Does she?”
Caroline nodded, her gaze still fixed. “She speaks fondly of your time together. It’s good she has you… to guide her, especially with the ball.”
“Mmm. I’m always happy to help a friend where I can,” Gillian replied, her voice carefully controlled as she looked back at her.
Caroline opened her mouth to speak again, just as Viola appeared in the doorway.
“I’d best head off too,” Gillian said quickly.
Having had more to drink than she intended and spending the entire evening battling waves of jealousy over the manor and Viola, she was beginning to grow weary of maintaining a cheerful front.
“Of course,” Viola replied.
Gillian directed a nod in Caroline’s direction as she joined Viola by the door. “It was nice to meet you.”
“Likewise. I do hope we meet again.”
“Caroline seems nice,” Gillian said as she and Viola walked back through the great hall. “She’s obviously good for you. I’m happy for you both.”
“Happy for us?” Viola chuckled. “You make us sound like a couple.”
“Are you not?”
“Good god, no,” Viola replied. “Older women are my type, yes, but not Caroline. Plus, she’s into men.”
“Oh,” Gillian replied, relief washing over her at the confirmation, only for a tightness in her stomach to grab hold at how much it meant to her.
As they reached the porch, Viola turned to Gillian. “I hope everything was to your liking this evening.”
“Oh, everything was perfect,” Gillian assured her, the words feeling heavy on her tongue. “You’ve done an excellent job.”
Viola’s eyes sparkled with gratitude. “Thank you. That means a lot coming from you. Thank you for coming.”
“I appreciate the invitation — and for saving my skin with the flower show. Might I see you tomorrow?”
“I hope I’ll return before you finish.”
Gillian couldn’t contain her smile as she stepped outside. “Well, good night.”
“Good night.”
As she turned to leave, Viola called out, her voice carrying a note of uncertainty. “Oh, Gillian?”
Gillian swivelled quickly on her stiletto. “Yes?”
“It’s just… I have the helicopter for the whole weekend and a table booked for lunch on Sunday at a rather delightful restaurant in the Surrey Hills. Would you join me?”
“I’d love to.”
“It was for Caroline and me, but with her—”
“I said yes,” Gillian cut off a flustered Viola.
“Oh, great,” Viola replied, lowering her head and kicking at the gravel. “Knock for me at about eleven thirty?”
“I look forward to it,” Gillian replied, turning and continuing the precarious journey across the gravel drive in her high heels.
When she put her key into the front door of the lodge a few minutes later, she gulped, realising that Viola meant she would be flying them to the restaurant. She pushed the thought from her mind. First, she needed to get the flower show done and dusted; then she would worry about that.
Stepping into the lodge, she blew out a deep breath. She couldn’t deny the excitement bubbling inside her at the thought of lunch with Viola. It mingled with a complex array of emotions that Viola stirred within her. There was an undeniable pull, a magnetic force that drew her closer to Viola despite her best efforts to remain detached.
She also couldn’t ignore the way her heart quickened around Viola, the way her thoughts kept drifting back to their time together. It felt like more than a friendship, yet admitting that, even to herself, was a step she wasn’t ready to take.